Today, Tony the Tiger jumped up to my doorstep while I was busy making the home tidy. He seemed concerned that I'd found a new boarder. I told him I had not and had not been looking.
"Well, I know someone who is looking for a place,
so do you still need someone to stay?"
He asked with all the honesty of someone who was just looking to help someone out.
And it was clear.
I saw my dream trip, my venture to somewhere different.
And it's not so far from home.
It's holidays with my girl, no matter where we are. It's days spent like they always have been, as usual, but each one not quite the same. It's not taking offense that we'll be treated different as a "we" as opposed to an "I".
And it's not wanting for anything, we'll not be asking for anything.
I know it was meant to be helpful. But it made me look at myself, my family, my life.
I have come to the conclusion that we will only be taking in strays under special circumstances.
And at this point and time, there are none that meet the criteria of needing our help.
Thank you, Tony, it was sweet. But I think we'll be doing for ourselves for now.
My dream trip is to be right here and have holidays and boring days and silly days and all those other stupid days to look forward to.
Not exactly a month in the Mediterranean (which runs a close second), but it makes me happy.
And in the end, nobody can take the place of another and no place is going to make you different. I've thought of running away again recently, but it won't fix anything.
What's the point of trying to pretend?
I'll just stay where I can find things that feel right when all I need to feel right is my girl and good music.
Got that.
my dream trip
my dream trip
Of course, that's a given darlin'. 
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<sarah>
my dream trip
This was a dream trip only in that it's so far removed from what's become my reality that it felt like a dream:
The Gulf Coast of Mississippi seems planets away from Virginia. It isn’t strip mall sterilization. Not that it doesn’t have scads of strip malls, but they have weeds growing in their pot-holed parking lots and rusting shopping carts strewn haphazardly around.
It’s not dry. The air is heavy, humidity as thick as swamp muck. It rains almost every day for a short period of time, but that doesn’t cool things off. On going outside your skin becomes moist from sweat and damp heat. It’s also not lacking in alcohol. On every corner, at every strip mall, near almost every road off of highway 90 there is either a liquor store or honky tonk – sometimes both. In the casinos the liquor overfloweth, and as all good addicts know, it’s free. The food’s not dry either. Almost every meat is served in some kind of gravy, every bread buttered, every shrimp po-boy tartered, every salad mayonaised, and every donut glazed, and the vegetables – they are cooked with lard. Tone is never dry. There is emotion from the bartender when you order a beer. The clerks let you know how pissed they are at their managers. There are blatantly ball bustingly brutal bigots. Near Jefferson Davis’s home there is a set of flags one of which is the confederate, and it flies, get this, beneath the American flag! Talk about a contradiction. The flags run along a wall that says something like “Welcome to the Gulfcoast.” On one side a black college student and his supporters with American flags – he’s been beside the wall in a tent for months. On the other side various confederate flag flying whites – crazy. (I don't think they stayed through Isadore)
The land is punctuated with water: rivers, swamps, bays, and bayous, not to mention the coastline itself. If you have a fear of rivers or boats you are out of luck because you have to cross water to get where you’re going, whether that be to a strip mall, liquor store, honky tonk, or the casinos. We went to one bayou in a little place called Lafeyette. We drove around little rivulets, bass fingers, and dark swampy pools looking for alligators. All we found was hauntingly beautiful trees whose bases looked like webs and a sign that said “no niggers” – unbelievable.
In many places it’s really ugly. In others really beautiful. In some really beautiful and ugly at the same time. We went to a bike rally beside a river and camped underneath the stars. We drank beer until the hubby break danced to a cover of “Blister in the Sun” as I skipped around him. He choreographed my steps, telling me to stop when he was ready to stun our friends with some move he pulled from his white man’s grooves file. It may have looked ugly but it felt beautiful. We bought the Johnny Paycheck greatest hits cd and crooned to “Someone to Give Your Love To” and then laughed to “Take this Job and Shove It”. Women got naked and swung on a rope over the river. Old men got naked and waded. Many joints were rolled and smoked. Bikes cranked around the clock. The hubby fouled the spark plugs on his bike and the old bikers lent their expertise, so we could get on the road. A cop sat near the exit waiting to bust people – ugly.
The roads are low and flat, made for sunsets as seen from the back of a bike. It’s nice because if you find the strip malls and honky tonks ugly, you can just look up. The middle class is virtually nonexistent – it’s either ungodly wealth, or ungodly poverty, with a few transients mixed in. There are quite a few mosquitoes, many carrying disease. I carry Off like some women do mace. I’ve met a lot of scraggly old men who might have been carrying deadly strains of something, but none so far that call for the use of Off or mace. We met one old scraggly who thought the hubby was quite a nice looking man – in fact we met him at the bike rally, he helped us the next morning with the bike.
It is a place some people would hate, and there are lots of legitimate reasons to hate it: dirty, hot, racist, bug infested, poor. But it effects me like a stray dog, a dog with mange. The ugly is right out there, like the mange, it’s fairly easy to spot. And there’s no pretending to be a poodle with a pedicure when you’re a mutt with mange. The lack of pretense is nice because I think ugly is harder for me to deal with when it’s hidden.
The Gulf Coast of Mississippi seems planets away from Virginia. It isn’t strip mall sterilization. Not that it doesn’t have scads of strip malls, but they have weeds growing in their pot-holed parking lots and rusting shopping carts strewn haphazardly around.
It’s not dry. The air is heavy, humidity as thick as swamp muck. It rains almost every day for a short period of time, but that doesn’t cool things off. On going outside your skin becomes moist from sweat and damp heat. It’s also not lacking in alcohol. On every corner, at every strip mall, near almost every road off of highway 90 there is either a liquor store or honky tonk – sometimes both. In the casinos the liquor overfloweth, and as all good addicts know, it’s free. The food’s not dry either. Almost every meat is served in some kind of gravy, every bread buttered, every shrimp po-boy tartered, every salad mayonaised, and every donut glazed, and the vegetables – they are cooked with lard. Tone is never dry. There is emotion from the bartender when you order a beer. The clerks let you know how pissed they are at their managers. There are blatantly ball bustingly brutal bigots. Near Jefferson Davis’s home there is a set of flags one of which is the confederate, and it flies, get this, beneath the American flag! Talk about a contradiction. The flags run along a wall that says something like “Welcome to the Gulfcoast.” On one side a black college student and his supporters with American flags – he’s been beside the wall in a tent for months. On the other side various confederate flag flying whites – crazy. (I don't think they stayed through Isadore)
The land is punctuated with water: rivers, swamps, bays, and bayous, not to mention the coastline itself. If you have a fear of rivers or boats you are out of luck because you have to cross water to get where you’re going, whether that be to a strip mall, liquor store, honky tonk, or the casinos. We went to one bayou in a little place called Lafeyette. We drove around little rivulets, bass fingers, and dark swampy pools looking for alligators. All we found was hauntingly beautiful trees whose bases looked like webs and a sign that said “no niggers” – unbelievable.
In many places it’s really ugly. In others really beautiful. In some really beautiful and ugly at the same time. We went to a bike rally beside a river and camped underneath the stars. We drank beer until the hubby break danced to a cover of “Blister in the Sun” as I skipped around him. He choreographed my steps, telling me to stop when he was ready to stun our friends with some move he pulled from his white man’s grooves file. It may have looked ugly but it felt beautiful. We bought the Johnny Paycheck greatest hits cd and crooned to “Someone to Give Your Love To” and then laughed to “Take this Job and Shove It”. Women got naked and swung on a rope over the river. Old men got naked and waded. Many joints were rolled and smoked. Bikes cranked around the clock. The hubby fouled the spark plugs on his bike and the old bikers lent their expertise, so we could get on the road. A cop sat near the exit waiting to bust people – ugly.
The roads are low and flat, made for sunsets as seen from the back of a bike. It’s nice because if you find the strip malls and honky tonks ugly, you can just look up. The middle class is virtually nonexistent – it’s either ungodly wealth, or ungodly poverty, with a few transients mixed in. There are quite a few mosquitoes, many carrying disease. I carry Off like some women do mace. I’ve met a lot of scraggly old men who might have been carrying deadly strains of something, but none so far that call for the use of Off or mace. We met one old scraggly who thought the hubby was quite a nice looking man – in fact we met him at the bike rally, he helped us the next morning with the bike.
It is a place some people would hate, and there are lots of legitimate reasons to hate it: dirty, hot, racist, bug infested, poor. But it effects me like a stray dog, a dog with mange. The ugly is right out there, like the mange, it’s fairly easy to spot. And there’s no pretending to be a poodle with a pedicure when you’re a mutt with mange. The lack of pretense is nice because I think ugly is harder for me to deal with when it’s hidden.
my dream trip
It's a dirty seductive bitch, isn't it?
my dream trip
this is an exceptionally dense and atmospherically convincing description, sarah. a joy to read.
i find it difficult to imagine enjoying a visit to a place filled with racist mother fuckers but i know what you are talking about.
i find it difficult to imagine enjoying a visit to a place filled with racist mother fuckers but i know what you are talking about.
my dream trip
even tho some would disagree
my dream trip
ohh thank you martino. i read the reverse cowgirl everyday. good blog.
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<sarah>
my dream trip
yep, doing dense well -- I feel sort of like the Ernest T. Bass of this bb
I like the picture
and h. I can't help adding, like a dirty, seductive bitch in heat
I like the picture
and h. I can't help adding, like a dirty, seductive bitch in heat
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mccutcheon
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my dream trip
Once Sloth and I camped in a place like that, right on the gulf, I got a hat that read, 'I'm a coon ass, me' I wore it all the time because I wanted to fit in. The locals drag raced on the beach. I almost got bit by a gator when i was pouring my beer over him. Sloth saved me though. There was actually some French spoken but couldn't understand a word of it. They had never seen canadian money before, or knew it existed and gave us an exchange rate as equal after I sweet talked the old lady. And Sloth got his ass probed, opps, that's another story.
my dream trip
Ha ha ha! You guys are cracking me up.
Some 10 years ago, I knew this guy at my job who wore a shirt that said "Welcome to Mississippi-please set your clock back 30 years". Hard to believe they still have "nigger" signs and stuff like that. Set our clocks back 40 years?
I like that term you used Sarah- "ungodly rich or ungodly poor".
You are a coon's ass McC! Just kidding...what the hell is a coon anyway? A bird, isn't it?
Some 10 years ago, I knew this guy at my job who wore a shirt that said "Welcome to Mississippi-please set your clock back 30 years". Hard to believe they still have "nigger" signs and stuff like that. Set our clocks back 40 years?
I like that term you used Sarah- "ungodly rich or ungodly poor".
You are a coon's ass McC! Just kidding...what the hell is a coon anyway? A bird, isn't it?